As the Rock Crumbles . . .
by minervamoon
Summary: Ever think about why the "older" Janeway from Endgame didn't want to talk about Seven of Nine? Ever think about the details of how she died? Kathryn Janeway must deal with her feelings in the limited way she knows how . . .


Author's Note: Don't even get me started on my Harry Potter story _The Early Snow_. Don't. Just know that this is one of the many stories I planned, and I will also be putting out a collection of Voyager songs based on real ones, starting with "The Lion Regenerates Tonight."

This story is dedicated to Emily, my very best friend an co-writer of songs, Joseph, who writes for FFN but has absolutely no interest in Trek (weird, huh?), and my IMAST science teacher, Miss LeMaire, who agreed to call me Seven in class. I really don't know how Jeri Ryan did it at first; it's really weird being called a number. 

Anyway, I'll start the story . . . but first, a quote from a poster on the wall of Geography/History class:

_ You can throw rocks,   
stumble on them,   
climb over them,   
or build with them. _

As the Rock Crumbles . . . 

As the door whispered close behind her, Kathryn Janeway let out a breath she hadn't even realized she had been holding. The day had been . . . wearisome? and she had been looking forward to the comforts of her quarters since . . . was it only this afternoon? Strange how time goes by slowly when the world tips . . . over and over until life is so mixed you hardly recognize it.

The morning had been without mishap: they had found an "M" class planet so painfully like Earth, and so rich in nutritional supplements. Chakotay had picked a small away team--consisting of Crewman Chell, Seven of Nine, Josh Lothridge, and two others--to beam down and survey the plants. Janeway and Chakotay had escorted the team and to the transporter room.

She remembered, ever so clearly, Chakotay blowing Seven a kiss, and Seven, with a sideways glance at Lothridge--who turned quickly away--turning slightly pink. She allowed herself a small smile, however, that nonetheless was able to light up her beautiful face. After eight months of marriage, they still acted like newly-weds.

It was the last time Janeway would ever see that smile. Oh yes, they had scanned and read several animal species on the planet, and were warned to be wary. But with all tricorders adjusted to check plant life, nobody saw it coming. Their fatal mistake.

She were so stupid--stupid! As the captain, she should have made sure, should have not let a team down where it was not safe. But food supplies were dwindling, with no other suitable sources on long-range scans, and rationing rations didn't sound very appealing. Now she wished she had gone with the rations. They would have saved a life, literally.

Seven, reported Chell, had just finished readings on a plant with blossoms very similar to the Blue Hydrangea. She arose from her crouched position and stated, "Significant source of Vita . . ." and then she fell. A fox-like animal, apparently particularly vicious towards the color purple (she had changed her corset style only the week before), had attacked from behind, and was now backing for a second go. Lothridge, horrified, called for an emergency beam-out.

Janeway, Chakotay, and Tuvok ran full-speed to sickbay. The Doctor, in a hushed tone, sadly told them that he was afraid there was nothing he could do. He said the injury was very similar to the one his holographic daughter had taken, and the most he could do was numb the pain. Terrified, Chakotay sprinted to the bio-bed and took Seven in his arms.

Janeway looked over, her vision almost blurry. No, this couldn't be happening. But it was real, oh yes, very real; that terrible red gash on Seven's head was real, the doctor's hypospray to her neck and sad expression was real, and the sadness that hung around the room, lingering near Chakotay's bent form, was real, too real.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," he whispered fiercely in her ear. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "The Doctor will make you just fine." His tears ran quickly down his cheeks. Seven pulled him closer.

"Chakotay . . . be strong . . . for me," she said, her eyes closing slowly. " . . . The captain . . . the ship . . ." Her grip loosened, and the tricorder the Doctor was holding started whistling frantically. Chakotay let out a long, "No!", and Tuvok bowed his head. Seven's angelic face looked peaceful, as if she had just lain down to sleep. But Janeway knew death when she saw it, and, Heaven help her, this was it. But the captain didn't even acknowledge what had happened. It still seemed very unreal, almost dream-like, and any minute now, and second, she would wake up, and none of this will have happened . . . 

The second never came, and Janeway was left in a horrible situation. As she announced the message to the entire ship, it sounded dull, emotionless . . . not like someone who had just lost one of her dearest friends. 

And the worst part was, she knew it was her fault, all her fault. Chakotay caught and held her gaze for a long time as she left him in sickbay. Later that day, as she delivered the eulogy at Seven's funeral, he caught her gaze again. If anyone, Chakotay would be the one to read her like a book. Her eyes were blank, devoid of emotion. She felt almost nothing, except anger, howerer irrational she thought it might be. Anger at herself, anger at Seven for dying, anger at being angry at a time she knew she should be grieving.

And then it came, the sadness, slowly, knawing at her stomach, making her want to cry. She hadn't really cried since she was twelve, after that terrible tennis match. It had been raining outside at that time. She glanced out a window, expecting to see a heavy downpour where the void of space lay. 

But how to grieve? Captain Janeway could never show anything that would diminish the crew's happiness, especially when the crew would most likely be stuck on this ship for the better part of their lives.

Morale. That's what it was all about. A captain should be the anchor in a storm, rock steady, something to hold on to even if everything else spinning out of control. But what if the rock crumbles? Then what is there to grab? That is why she had to be strong in front of the crew, strong in battle, strong in awful situations, strong in the hopes that, one day, they would make it back home.

So, quietly, Janeway sent herself to her room, thinking dmly of a nice cup of black coffee, or maybe Vulcan spice tea. But after she went in through the door, she found that she could not give herself something happy. Somehow, she reasoned, that would be disrespectful to Seven, who would still be alive had her captain been more attentive.

The world was spinning out of control. Though, sitting in her room, Janeway had no one to give a sense of hope to, no officers to be strong in front of, no crewmen to steady. Life for them--most of them--went back to normal. No reason to dwell on death. Life goes on. For the most part . . .

But now, alone in her quarters, Captain Kathryn Janeway, great commander of the Starship Voyager, the one destined to lead a crew home through 70,000 light years against all odds, took a breath, hugged her knees, and started to cry.


End file.
